


Escape

by fionarhiannon



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 02:32:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2565059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fionarhiannon/pseuds/fionarhiannon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose feels as though her life and the dreams she once had are now stagnant, and she can barely see a way past it. </p><p>She's reluctant to love and live again. </p><p>But what happens when she meets the man of her former dreams? <br/>Can she learn to let him in and give him a chance? <br/>Can he teach her not to give up?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escape

**Author's Note:**

> So this is something I'm trialing.   
> It will probably be multi - chapter 
> 
> You'll notice from parts that are mentioned i'm only roughly using Tom's actual working time line - there will be parts I may miss out or briefly mention, because there are certain roles that will shape the story better than others.   
> So just beware that the time line may not be accurate. 
> 
> Also this kinda starts circa 2011 - if you look up photos of Tom doing promo for The Deep Blue Sea etc, that's the kind of look i'm aiming for him to have here. 
> 
> Anyway, here's chapter 1, I hope you all enjoy it! 
> 
> (Any mistakes etc are either me or autocorrect)

On the corner of a row of shops down a leafy Hampstead high street, Little Shakespeare stood. 

 

It was Rosie's pride and joy, the one thing that kept her afloat, financially and emotionally. 

Every morning, Rosie took the short walk from her small townhouse to the high street,  grabbing her necessary coffee fix on the way, and would arrive with 15 minutes remaining until opening time. 

It was a small shop, but to her, it was the grandest thing she had ever put her name to. 

 

Today was a day just like any other, and as she entered her shop, the bell rang out, making her smile. 

Flicking on the lights, the room illuminated in a warm orange glow, and shadows cast out starkly highlighted the features of the room; bookcases of faded baby blue lined three main walls, filled with the pages and words of some of the greatest literary minds of the centuries before her. 

Sections of poetry by Milton, Keats,  Byron, Angelou, Dickinson and Duffy. Short stories by Hemingway,  Mansfield, Jackson and Poe.  And the great work of those such as Shakespeare (her favourite, and naturally her shop's namesake) Christie,  Dickens, Austen, Fitzgerald, Lee, and of course, J.K. Rowling. 

 

She took a deep breath and revelled in a smell she thought she sometimes imagined - it was old, and new and the two combined in utter bliss; it was reminiscent of her grandmother's candlelit library on a snowy night. Old books were musty, the compounds of the pages having broken down over the years, and reminded her of vanilla - the plain and yet sweet smell of enjoyment these pages had brought people in the past, teaming with the brand new, fresh clean pages ready to intoxicated their new and first of many owners. 

 

Closing the door behind her with a small click, she took her coat off and hung it on the stand beside the door, and moved behind the till. 

Short, cold fingers released the take out cup and left it to the counter before she moved around the room, tweaking points here and there - the vase containing Daisies that stood on the round table in the middle of the room, the books that surrounded it, making sure it was perfectly neat. 

On the far right side of the room, two steps led to the cave named 'The Aligaitor's Tale'. 

She made her way here, the steps creaking as she moved down them, and turned on the lights that adorned the walls - butterflies, stars and the moon. The Green walls came alive with drawings of children's favourite characters, and colourful paper dragonflies hung from the ceiling. They moved in the air ever so slightly; not enough to stand out, but just so they captured the wonderment and imagination of the tiny people who visited regularly. 

Short bookcases were stacked with fascinating tales for all ages, and the floor was scattered with huge cushions of primary colours and various stuffed animals. It was a jungle of creativity and imagination, fit for tiny, developing minds. 

 

At 9 O'clock on the dot, Rosie opened the store officially, switching round the little sign in the door so it read open to any passers by, and she waited. 

Sometimes it could be quiet, not being in the busiest of places, but she didn't mind - she always found something to do, even if it was reading her own stock. 

The first hour saw two customers, and then at 10.15 a small group of four year olds entered with their playgroup teacher. Each week two different groups came in to have a kind of library session - they sat around and listened to Rosie read a book, all joining in and clapping their small hands with glee, before they made a joint decision with Sara, their teacher and incidently Rosie's friend, about which book they would borrow; Rosie didn't mind lending The Rainbow Room a book every week - she always got it back and in perfect condition. 

 

At 12.15, Rosie opened her packed lunch and took bites of her plain chicken salad sandwich in between serving more customers. 

It was a slow but productive afternoon, and as the darkness of an English autumn overcame the sky and 5.30 struck on the old grandfather clock that stood next to the window, she started to shut up the shop. 

 

She was just turning out the lights in the Aligaitor's Tale when she heard the distinct tinkling of the bell and the sound of boots upon the polished wood floor. 

She wanted to tell this customer she was closed, but she remembered not turning over the little card to indicate this, and so let them be. 

When she entered the main room of her shop, she was glad she hadn't - a tall man stood there, wrapped up tightly in a dark pea coat and grey scarf. 

He was handsome with his striking jawline, regal nose, thin, pink lips and from what she could make out, shining blue eyes which stood out against his black, curly hair. 

When he spotted her, he smiled widely and it made her slightly giddy. 

"Good evening. How can I help?" She asked, whilst checking out his long legs and fine looking shoes. 

He was definitely a classy guy. She couldn't recall ever having seen him around here before, and wondered if he had recently moved in somewhere nearby. 

Chiding herself, she tried to remember to be professional and not stare at and drool over the nice looking customer. 

"Hi, I certainly hope so - i'm looking for a play, by Rattigan.  The Deep Blue Sea? " 

She smiled fondly and made her way over to the first shelf near the door. 

She scaled down the books with her fingertip until she located the small text and pulled it free from the friends it sat between. 

"Great choice. Was it recommended?" She asked as she handed it to him. 

He flicked through the pages absently with his long fingers. 

"Sort of," came his reply. 

Rosie usually made conversation with her customers, and she tried not to make this any different, but her burning curiosity got the better of her - she had always been nosey. 

"A gift maybe,  for a girlfriend?" 

When he looked up, his expression blank, she felt a blush rise through her cheeks, fearing she had stepped out of line. 

But that wonderful smile, a smile that touched his eyes, came back, and he shook his head, making his curls bounce. 

"No. No girlfriend," he began. 

She didn't dare ask if he perhaps had a boyfriend. 

"It's for work - research of sorts," he continued in a beat. 

"Oh, what do you do?" 

His eyes found hers again and studied her for a moment - she wanted to look away, his gaze being intense, but she was held there, staring back, suddenly feeling so unsure of herself. 

"I'm an actor," he finally revealed. 

Her excitement got the better of her. 

"Oh! Are they making a new film of this?!" 

The beautiful stranger chuckled. 

"Yes, and I'm hoping I'll be playing Freddie. I just like to do my research and immerse myself and, well..." He took a deep breath and released it dramatically, a nervous laugh tangled within it. 

"You want to be able to feel the play, too. To have those words that Rattigan originally wrote flowing through you. To have Freddie flowing through you." 

His jaw dropped an inch and he nodded slowly. 

"Exactly." 

Rosie's smile was small. 

"Well it's a great play. Beautiful. I don't find many people who like Freddie, but I love him as a character - he's honest. Open with his emotions and how they effect him." 

There was a silence between them. Nothing uncomfortable, but like two strangers who had found a common ground. 

He extended a hand towards her, which she took, and shook lightly. 

"I'm Tom," he introduced. 

"Rosie," she replied. 

 

He made a move then, and purchased the book. 

"Good luck with the role, Tom. I'll look out for it." 

His lips pulled up in one corner. "Thanks. If i get the part, ill make sure to invite you to the premiere," he winked. 

Rosie laughed, and felt a small pang of regret that she'd never see this man again, unless he made it to the big screen. 

As Tom left with a cheerio, and Rosie locked up, heading out for the night, she had no idea of the chapter she had just begun to write. 


End file.
